


To Save A Life

by elisi



Series: Not the Last [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2009-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas (2027), but the rift doesn't care about peace and goodwill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Never enter Torchwood unannounced._

This oft-repeated axiom the Seeker had heard for as long as he could remember - from way before he was allowed _anywhere_ alone. The decree was usually followed by a wink (Jack), a significant _look_ (the Doctor, the team) or an eyeroll (his father), the implication being that he might walk in on something he shouldn’t see (which was worth bearing in mind, Jack being Jack), or get shot by a stray bullet or eaten by a weevil or similar if it was one of _those_ days.

But the rule was beginning to chafe somewhat now - he was 20 years old after all - so when the tourist office turned out to be empty he shrugged and let himself into the tunnel behind. He was only dropping off Christmas presents, and wasn’t going to linger.

The fact that the rolldoor didn’t open made him stop, but only for a moment as he shifted all his bags into one hand so he could teleport to the other side. It was probably just the standard shutdown drill that he usually tried to avoid - Jack had mentioned they would be changing the time.

(He was still feeling somewhat giddy from having been given a whole week's freedom in which to do his Christmas shopping, including the use of both his teleport pendant and his spaceship. Allison and their friends thought he'd gone to Europe. Which wasn't a lie, as he'd _also_ gone to Europe, even dropping in on their circus friends... But he'd been so many other places too.)

“Only me!” he called out once he was on the other side. “I’m bringing you presents, since I can’t come to the staff party...” (It was sweet of Jack to invite him, even though he was only A Special Torchwood Friend, but he had a feeling his presence might inhibit things somewhat. Also, he'd been attending plenty of student parties in Cambridge - the last one being scheduled for tonight.)

The remainder of the sentence died on his lips as he took another step inside and saw Sylvia on the ground.

_(He’d bought her the most exquisite silver psi bracelet from Axylon, since she always complained about the rift only throwing out ugly things - the fact that her team members would be able to tell her mood with one swift look was only a cheeky side benefit...)_

The bags fell to the floor as he rushed to her, even though he could tell that he was too late. She was very clearly dead - her skin a sickly dark green, the reason for which he couldn’t identify. Another step brought Jack’s body into view, but he ignored that through life-long habit ( _“Look my boy - Daddy is going to show you the most clever trick ever...”_ ) and stalked forwards, senses open and alert - there was no telling what had done this: Alien, poison gas, mishap with an artefact... This was Torchwood, the list was endless.

He found Nathan face down by Jack’s desk, his crisp white medic’s coat crumpled and creased by the fall, the same discolouration darkening his skin. Clearly this was the man to thank for the lockdown - such a tidy, devoted mind.

Afsana, as usual dressed in a sari that looked ridiculously out of place in the grey cavern, had collapsed on the stairs and the Seeker tiptoed past her, chest too tight by far, as he tried his utmost to hone in on the last member of the team...

He found him in the greenhouse, on the floor like the others, but - alive. The relief was almost too much.

“Ianto!” he called out, running to his side; and then stopped, horrified.

The Welshman was unconscious, and - although still very faint - there was an unmistakable pale green tinge to his skin.

Sinking to his knees the Seeker did his utmost not to panic, even though his mind was with painful logic pointing out that if Jack had not come back to life yet, this thing killed within minutes - possibly less...

He took a deep breath and tried to think, even though this felt like every nightmare he’d ever had, turned real - there was no time, no time at all, and he was _too young_ and _knew far too little_...

Quite simply he didn’t have a clue what this was; didn’t even know where to _begin_.

And Ianto was dying.


	2. Chapter 2

_Stop. Think. Use your brain. You’re the cleverest boy in the world, you can do this!_

Who would know what was wrong with Ianto? The answer was instant: the Doctor.

The Doctor would know, because the Doctor knew _everything_. More or less, anyway. But the Seeker was sure the Doctor would know.

Except... except diagnosis was only half the problem.

He needed someone - some _where_ \- with not only the knowledge to tell what this was (it could be anything, anything at all, damn that rift), but also the remedy at hand. Only where in the universe was a place like that?

Then the answer came to him - clear, logical and perfect - and if he’d not been so strapped for time he would have laughed out loud. Instead he grabbed Ianto, and in a flash teleported the two of them straight into the tiny medical bay of his spaceship.

With some difficulty, trying to stop his hands from shaking, he strapped the older man into the bed (unconscious people were so _heavy_ ), waiting for a few seconds to see if the auto doctor could work out what it was, but of course he wasn’t so lucky... The thing was as basic as could be, something he vowed to remedy as soon as possible.

Running forward to the cockpit he slipped into his seat whilst already programming the vortex manipulator - careful, careful, no time for error... 

Then he was hurtling through the vortex, yet again reminded of why ordinary spaceships weren’t suited for travelling this way - the view always made him vertiginous, apart from the fact that the rapid freefall through time made his head tingle and spin.

Reality reappeared in an abrupt flash, galaxy M87 spread out around him and New Earth straight ahead. He fired up the engines, hit go, and then swore violently as he almost crashed into the space lanes in front of him. 

After engaging the autopilot - as he should have done from the start! Damn his stupid Earthbound punishment that made him rusty in things that should be second nature - he pressed a few buttons, and immediately a vimpled cat appeared on his screen, gazing at him benignly.

“A good day to you stranger. We are the Sisters of Plentitude, how may we help?”

He took a deep breath. “A good day to you too. I am Alexander Saxon. Tell me - can you cure anything?”

She dipped her head a little. “We humbly try to do our best-”

His hands curled into fists, despair and hope both gnawing at the edges of his mind, along with a fierce desire to make reality bend to his wishes by sheer force of will. “No! Just answer, yes or no - can you cure _anything_?”

It was year 5 billion and eighteen... Five years before the Doctor’s first visit - it might be too early for them to have developed their ‘cure’, the Doctor’s recount of the story had been so _vague..._

The cat smiled, exuding calm competence and reassurance. “If you have faith in the Sisterhood...”

He exhaled, forcing calm to the forefront. “Oh I have faith Sister. Listen - I’m bringing you a patient who is minutes - possibly seconds - away from death. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, it could be anything at all, poisoning, virus, gas, incubation... and I _need_ you to save his life. I swear, I’ll bring you Arcadian diamonds as large as your head if you will just help.”

“Of _course_ we will help,” came the answer, just the tiniest bit reproachful, “that is why we are here. What are the symptoms?”

“Symptoms... Um... Look, I’ll send the results of my medi-bay’s analysis, it might tell you something. Afraid you will have to quarantine off a section to bring him in, if he’s contagious he could start an epidemic - and it is possible that you have to put him in stasis while you diagnose him, although I’m not sure if that’ll slow the progress...”

The cat nodded, quickly scanning the incoming data, and then became busy issuing a host of orders, both verbal and electronic, before looking up at him again. 

“If you could land at shuttle port 2, we will be ready to assist.”

“Thank you. _Thank_ you. You have no idea...”

The relief was almost overwhelming, but he knew that nothing was saved yet.

As he deftly parked the ship he saw a medical team wrapped up in full body suits already waiting, and the moment he opened the hatch they swarmed onboard, whisking Ianto away.

Staring after them he knew that his part had been played and the only thing he could do now was pray... (What _did_ he believe in? Time, he supposed - science, technology, logic... none of these exactly a fitting subject for prayer) and he almost jumped as a hand came to rest on his arm.

“Please pardon me, Mr Saxon, but I’m afraid you need to come this way. We will make sure to disinfect your ship, and you will need a thorough check-over. If this is indeed a contagious disease, you yourself could be infected.”

Blinking at the suited-up cat beside him, he hesitated momentarily.

“Just disinfect me for starters, OK? I’m not... I’m not exactly average. Seriously, my immune system is extremely advanced, so I might not be in any danger. Although if I start turning green...”

The medic nodded silently, and beckoned him to follow.

A little later the Seeker was stuck in a sterile cell, with only an info-screen as company. He turned it on, but seeing a smiling presenter reading out a news report from New New York he swiftly switched it off again. Another eleven years and they would all be dead - ( _It would happen because it had already happened, the timelines laid down in stone_ ), nothing he could do about it, but it still made for depressing viewing now he was stuck here, trying to save just one single life...

He wasn’t exactly a stranger to death, but except for Jack (and Jack didn’t count) he’d never actually seen anyone he cared about die. Of course Torchwood had gone through quite a few people during his short life - and his father had slaughtered millions - but this was different. 

In his mind death had always been linked with violence, and he’d never really considered illness (presuming it was a rogue virus of some sort, it seemed the best fit) as something that could take people from him. He hated the helpless feeling it brought - why had he never thought of studying medicine? He had been so horribly unprepared for this...

Ianto couldn’t die. _Couldn’t_. He’d been at Torchwood for as long as the Seeker could remember - the steady, calm centre around which Jack’s bright, explosive energy danced. 

Jack was fond of remarking, voice light, that Ianto would follow in Gerald Carter’s footsteps and become the second person in Torchwood Cardiff to retire. Which the Seeker knew was Jack’s roundabout way of saying that he didn’t know what he’d do if the other man was taken before his time. 

Then the door opened and yet another serene nurse appeared.

“Mr Saxon - I am happy to report that your friend is cured.”

The relief was so intense that he almost felt hollow, before happiness soared through him.

“Really? Oh God thank you! Thank you!” He spun her round joyfully, laughing, before realising that this was not really proper, and apologetically let go of her.

She regained her equilibrium, and he with suitable deference asked what the problem had been.

“A transmutation of Pallidome Pancrosis. The original kills in ten minutes, but the mutant strand was even more aggressive. Do you know how he was infected? If there has been an outbreak it needs to be stopped.”

Slowly he shook his head. “It’s complicated... I wish I knew, but I don’t.”

The nurse looked him over, pupils narrowing. “Also surprising is your own apparent well being. This virus attacks most known organisms...”

He smiled, knowing that they’d probably drag him off to a lab if he let on what he was.

“I’m very specially designed - my father was _most_ particular...”

A slow nod followed, and he could tell that she was drawing her own conclusions - she’d think he was a rich kid (his ship would have told them that already), a carefully designed heir to some distant empire. Which wasn’t far from the truth, although his father was very thoroughly de-throned, thank Rassilon.

“Can I see him?” he asked, and, after one last check to make sure he was free from infection, he was taken through the hospital. It was clean and bright and airy, everything running smoothly and efficiently, and he couldn’t help but loving it. If he could have designed a hospital himself, this calm and ordered place would have been it. 

Then he caught sight of himself in a reflective surface, and smiled as he instantly heard his mother’s voice in his head, reminding him that occasions like this were exactly why he should always be properly dressed - trainers, blue jeans and a white T-shirt not constituting anything resembling ‘proper’ in her opinion... 

At least the black duffel coat was verging on appropriate, although Allie had - or so she claimed - bought it for him mostly because she thought he needed something warm to wear... ( _‘You’re only human Alex, you’ll catch your death walking around without a coat. And I prefer my boyfriend to be alive - a funny quirk I know, but that’s me.’_ ) So, since he couldn’t let on that he could regulate his bodyheat far more efficiently than she knew, he wore the coat. 

Then he was shown into Ianto’s room and he immediately refocussed on the here and now.

The other man was sitting up in bed, dressed in scrubs and yet - somehow or other - maintaining his dignity. But he didn’t speak until the nurse had left.

“Was that a cat?” he asked, slowly, and the Seeker nodded. “Yes. A cat nurse.”

“OK,” the Welshman replied, “I just wondered whether I was going insane or not. Which beggars the question - where exactly am I? Or...” his eyes narrowed, “should I say when?”

The Seeker hesitated for a moment. “You’re in a hospital. You... you were dying and I brought you here. Those cats saved your life!” 

_‘By killing other people’_ , his mind filled in. Closing his eyes, he briefly allowed himself to take in the horribly messy moral web he’d let himself become entangled in. But there was nothing to do about that - right now all that mattered was that Ianto was alive. He could feel guilty later.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a moment's silence, then the Seeker caught Ianto's eyes.

"Do you... do you remember anything? How much did you... I mean... Do you want to... talk about it?"

He wasn't quite sure what to say or do - this was far, far out of their comfort zone, but if Ianto didn't know that the rest of the team had died he ought to be told, and the Seeker could spare Jack that duty - he would be devastated enough as it was...

For a moment Ianto was silent, but then he slowly started talking, speaking more to himself than his hesitant audience.

"I was in the greenhouse, cataloguing plants, when I heard shouting. Apparently the rift decided to drop a rotting corpse straight into the Hub, and Sylvia..." he stopped, letting the sentence hang, and the Seeker nodded. He could vividly imagine Sylvia's reaction - she had probably seen it as a personal affront.

"So I closed the doors, because they started to bicker about who was going to dispose of the body... Didn't realise anything was wrong until- until I heard Jack call... I went to the window and looked down and they all looked sick - I was going to run to them, but Jack told me over the comm to stay where I was. To not open the doors under any circumstances, to wait for him to..." He stopped, then continued haltingly, voice uneven. "So I stayed. And I watched them-"

Abruptly he buried his head in his hands, something like a sob escaping him. "Oh god I watched them all die and I couldn't do anything..."

The sudden outburst of emotion almost felt like a punch, because Ianto was _always_ calm. Whatever the circumstances he kept his head, a quality the Seeker admired greatly - especially as it contrasted so sharply with all his other male influences (even if his interaction with Ianto was only sporadic). His father, the Doctor and Jack were all such highly emotional creatures that it was bliss to know someone who by nature was always on an even keel.

And seeing stoic Ianto almost falling apart brought home to the Seeker on a new level what he had witnessed. He'd pushed it out of his mind, even when there, narrowing his mind to focus on what could be salvaged... But he saw them all again now - so still, so silent, so very lost - and he instinctively reached out to the other man, tentatively offering sympathy and understanding of the kind that could not be expressed with words.

To his surprise he discovered that Ianto had a fair bit of psychic training (Torchwood One or Jack? Or both?) - private areas neatly walled off, and the Seeker extended his reach, grateful that he didn't need to worry about accidentally intruding.

Ianto clearly drew some strength from the connection, taking a deep breath and composing himself once more. But the Seeker still felt the almost imperceptible ripple deep down, one he was intimately attuned to since infancy, thanks to the Doctor: Survivors guilt.

"Listen - if... if you hadn't-" the Seeker stopped, not sure how to continue. "You would have been dead too, and I wouldn't have been able to save you. It was touch and go as it was!"

Their eyes met, and their connection filled in what couldn't be said: That Ianto _had_ to survive. For Jack's sake.

"Thank you Seeker," Ianto replied solemnly, and the Seeker - blindsided - could only feebly reach for an appropriate reply. Ianto never used his real name. Never. Now and again (when needing him to pay attention and be serious) he would call him 'Alexander', but usually he went for a nickname of some sort - rascal, scamp, pain-in-arse, Timelord troublemaker... Ianto didn't remember The Year That Hadn't Been, and treated 'The Miracle Child' the same he would any other. And he also quite clearly thought that his family was crazy for letting an eight-year-old choose his own name, and consequently refused to use it. Of course he hadn't been told about the Schism, but in a way the Seeker relished this. There was an unspoken understanding that he had to somehow _earn_ his name...

But this was never the way he thought it would happen.

"I... I should probably call Jack," he said, pulling out his mobile, and seeing Ianto check his watch with a worried frown, he smiled a little. "I'll make sure the call reaches him only a few seconds after we left. As you guessed, we aren't in our own time." Ianto nodded, reassured, and the Seeker carefully programmed the phone, then thought that a text message might actually be more sensible, since he didn't know when Jack would wake up, and began typing.

_'Ianto is safe. Call me. S.'_

He hit 'send' and it only took seconds for the phone to start ringing.

"Jack?" he replied, and he could hear the swift intake of breath at the other end.

"Is Ianto there? Are you sure he's OK?"

The Seeker smiled, trying to quell the sharper emotions that the desperation in Jack's voice invoked.

"Yes I am 100% sure. Do you want to talk to him?"

Not bothering to wait for affirmation he handed the phone over, only pausing momentarily, his hand over the speaker.

"Don't tell him about the cat nurses. Please. I'll explain later."

Ianto nodded, and the Seeker handed the mobile over, quietly leaving the room to give them some privacy.

***

  


Teleporting into Torchwood for the second time, he arrived only a few minutes after his first entrance. He found everything like he'd left it, except for Jack who was standing in the middle of the Hub, so still the Seeker was worried the virus had already started its work again. But then he spoke, voice oddly toneless.

"Was this what you found?"

"Yes," the Seeker replied, walking up to him, a syringe in his hand. "I need to give you this, or you'll be dead again in a few minutes."

"OK," Jack replied, but he didn't move, so the Seeker rolled up his sleeve and gave him the injection, wondering what could be going through his friend's mind.

Then Jack turned to him abruptly, finally looking at him properly. “Seeker - are... are you OK?”

Holding Jack’s eyes and being very careful not to look at the bodies, he replied.

“No. But I’m coping. And- we need to..." he swallowed, "...clear up. Everything needs disinfecting, this thing could wipe out life on Earth."

Jack’s eyes widened.

"You shouldn't- you've done more than your share."

The Seeker folded his arms. "I'm not leaving you to do it alone. And Ianto is... traumatised enough. Let me help."

But Jack shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“You won’t! And I promised Ianto not to leave you alone before I left!”

Jack stared. “What?”

“I’m not a _child_ Jack, you know that. And Ianto worked it out all on his own. I’m staying.”

Why was Jack so dense sometimes? _‘We love you, you giant moron!’_ he wanted to shout. _‘We can’t help the those who are dead, but we can try look after you. So we will.’_

To his great relief Jack finally nodded assent, then shot a swift look towards the greenhouse.

"How... I mean where did you take him?"

For a long moment the Seeker hesitated, then shook his head. "I can't tell you. There are... possible entanglements of future timelines..."

"Entanglements?" Jack asked, eyes suddenly shrewd, and the Seeker glared back, following Jack's train of thought far too easily.

"No, that doesn't mean that future!you is sat by his bedside holding his hand. How dumb do you think I am? However, it is one of those cases where knowing something might change things... I honestly can't tell and it's better to be safe than sorry. But he's safe, and he's as well as can be expected, OK?"

Jack nodded, then took a shaky breath, putting his hand on the Seeker’s arm. "Listen - what you did..."

The Seeker instinctively pulled back, raising a hand. He'd already been part of one emotionally loaded scene, and wasn't sure if he'd make it through another. He hoped that Jack would understand.

"Can we just leave it for now - please?"

There was a pause, then Jack nodded, and the Seeker breathed an internal sigh of relief. Time to focus on the practical problems, something that he was far better at.

"Actually, Jack, I was thinking that if I could modify the antidote and make it airborne-"

He was cut off when his phone rang. Seeing Allie's name on the screen he hesitated momentarily, but he knew that she'd keep trying, so he answered, and her cheery voice felt like a warm drink on a cold day.

"Alex! Hi. Listen, about the party tonight - do you think you could try to wear, like, a proper shirt? Maybe even a tie? I know it's a pretty informal affair by Cambridge standards, but I'm thinking of wearing the green dress..."

The Christmas Party! It had slipped his mind completely, and for a few tantalising seconds he thought of going - dancing and having fun and making out with his girlfriend, pretending that he was only human (something that was as natural as breathing) and that everything was fine. But he knew it would be pointless.

"Allie... I'm sorry, but I don't think I can make it. I'm... I'm coming down with something, probably flu, and am just going to go straight home - there's a train in not too long."

The nature of the lie made him wince, but as she made a little sympathetic sound he knew that it had worked.

"Oh no, darling. Do take care, you really don't sound well."

"Tell me about it," he answered, deadpan.

 _'I sound like the Doctor,'_ he thought to himself. _'This is his Christmas voice. So carefully neutral, desperate not to give anything away, because it's supposed to be a happy day. Maybe Timelords just aren't meant to celebrate human holidays?’_


	4. Chapter 4

"Ianto... can I ask you something?"

Ianto's hands stilled in the midst of buttoning his shirt, New New York outlined through the window behind him in glorious sunshine. (Eleven more years and the world would be dead. If Ianto kept up his lucky streak he could outlive this planet. History was... idiosyncratic.)

"Go on," Ianto replied, and the Seeker shifted on the bed, careful not to upset the neatly folded scrubs.

"How... how do you cope? With people dying, I mean? You - and Jack, of course - how do you deal?"

The oddest look flickered across the Welshman's face, and the Seeker tried to quell a sudden smile. " _Apart_ from the sex. That bit is... obvious, and I _really_ don’t want to know. What I mean is... how do you keep going after losing your friends?"

It wasn't a fair question to ask, especially now, but the two of them had established a rapport in this place, and he wasn't sure if it'd hold once they were back home. And he couldn’t think of anyone else who would answer this particular question as honestly as he needed.

Ianto slowly continued to button his shirt, eyes growing distant.

"For me... routine is the key. The job never stops, and it needs doing, so we don't have a choice - we _have_ to keep going. I try to just take it day by day - sometimes hour by hour or minute by minute...” He stopped, reflective. “The pain doesn't get any less, you just get better at living with it."

The Seeker nodded, grateful. Having gained Ianto as a friend and equal amidst the heartbreak was something he was very grateful for. Reaching out for his tie, Ianto caught his eyes.

"And, if it gets too hard to even cope for the next minute, getting blind drunk is always an option."

"Does it help?" the Seeker asked, curious, even as he tried to imagine Ianto drunk. It made for a fascinating image.

"After a fashion," Ianto shrugged, deftly knotting his tie, and the Seeker considered this new idea. He knew that ‘drowning their sorrows’ was a staple of human society, but it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about trying... until now, when it was suddenly imperative to discover some way or other of dealing with the shock and pain. Helping Jack had been instructive and gratifyingly hard work, but there was nothing left to do now except fetch Ianto, and the Seeker found himself unable to face Christmas just yet.

He knew the Doctor's way of dealing with loss was to find new adventures - distracting himself with wonder, and danger, and trying to fix whatever he could find because other things would always be broken. The Seeker was beginning to understand this tendency, for the first time grasping that it was a coping mechanism for dealing with something alien to their nature.

Pain was clearly the price they had to pay for being so intimately involved with a lesser species...

But first of all he had to get Ianto home. As they walked though the hospital the nurses furtively followed them with their eyes, having obviously already heard about the very significant donation the Seeker had made. But it had helped to erase Ianto and himself from their records, so it was money well spent.

Making their way out to the shuttle ports, the Seeker could hear the involuntary intake of breath as Ianto took in their transport - sleek, black and exquisitely beautiful.

“Bloody hell! _That_ is your spaceship?”

The Welsh vowels softened the exclamation, but the incredulous tone was still a joy to his ears.

“M-hm!” he replied smugly, and Ianto shook his head. “No wonder they all treated you like royalty.”

“Well I _am_ the prince of the universe,” he said, getting a droll look in response.

“More like the spoiled brat of the universe,” Ianto replied, and the Seeker smiled.

“That too,” he said lightly. “Now, do you want to see what it can do?”

***

  


When they arrived back in Torchwood - the ship safely parked on the moon - the contrast between the gleaming newness of the spaceship and the drabness of the Hub was somehow sharper than usual. Ianto looked around, face like a mask.

“What day is it?” he asked.

“Christmas Eve,” the Seeker replied, and he could see the heavy weight of the memories settle down on the other man, along with the task of how to deal with Christmas.

“Might just go for the getting drunk route tonight,” Ianto said, suppressing a shiver.

The Seeker studied him, turning options over in his head. He could (theoretically, at least) run off to any place in the universe, but for once the prospect of new discoveries didn’t hold any attraction. He could still feel the terror of that initial, desperate flight to New Earth deep within his bones, and the thought of accidentally running across a similar situation was deeply unappealing.

So... why not try the human way of dealing? The species, after all, had had a long time to discover the optimum way of coping with loss, the individuals being so short-lived. No reason their methods shouldn't work for a Timelord too.

“Can I join?” he asked. “I _was_ invited to the party after all.”

Ianto turned, surprised, then his eyes flickered to Jack who was coming towards them from his office.

“I think that depends on Jack,” he said, but the Seeker shook his head. “I’m asking _you_!”

Jack he could wrap around his little finger, but Ianto was another matter. And it was entirely possible that ‘getting blind drunk’ was Ianto’s polite way of saying he wanted their guest to leave so that he could molest his boss in peace...

Then much to the Seeker’s surprise Ianto smiled, their new affinity apparently still holding.

“OK. But you’ll need to go shopping.”

***

  


Shopping on Christmas Eve was not an easy task, but the Seeker relished the normality of it. All the people rushing and worrying - panicking husbands looking for last-minute presents, harassed mothers looking for the last item for tomorrow’s dinner, the ever pervading Christmas jingles soon embedded in his head, twined with the voices of whining children - everyone so caught up in living that they forgot how precious their short allotted time was. He waited in seemingly endless queues, got quizzed about his age in the liquor store, and ended up with what was probably the worst Chinese take away in all of Cardiff, but he didn’t care. It was good to remember that for most people this Christmas was the same as every other - just a time for spending and eating too much and bickering with the extended family.

Yet he couldn’t help but studying the crowds, wondering what they’d say if they knew that they owed their lives to an antisocial, prematurely balding doctor that none of them would have spared a second glance. (Although at least they'd done _something_ for Nathan...)

Briefly closing his eyes, he prayed that getting drunk would stop him _thinking_. He was so very tired of painful memories blanking out everything else.

Back in Torchwood, carefully lining up his motley row of bottles, he felt his phone vibrate. Checking it, he saw that it was yet another text from Allie, this time reminding him to _keep warm_ , and checking that he had remembered to bring his presents home with him from Cambridge. He shook his head fondly and showed the message to Jack.

“You’re a lucky man, Seeker!” Jack remarked, and the Seeker nodded in agreement.

“That I am... although this must be the 30th message she’s sent me. Everything from tips about different remedies - and a few rather ingenious cures - to wanting to make sure that I’m looking after myself and eating enough... is it _normal_ for girlfriends to be that maternal?”

Jack chuckled. “I think all women are like that. Well most of them, anyway, just look at- at Afsana...”

His voice faltered, and the Seeker looked away. He could almost hear her voice still; clearly recall the way she’d always shake her head when he dropped by and declare him to be wasting away to nothing, before getting out whatever treats she’d brought in that morning. He sometimes wondered how Team Torchwood hadn’t become grossly overweight, considering the amount of food Afsana supplied them with - none of them had ever worked out how and when she found the time for all her cooking. And now they never would.

The two of them stood for a moment in silence, waiting - the Seeker realised - for an argument that would never start. The word ‘maternal’ would have been more than enough to set off Sylvia - not to mention the oblique reference to the way Afsana insisted on feeding and caring for the male members of the team - and the two of them would within seconds have been off, yet again going over the entirely too familiar ground of feminism, post-feminism and post-post-feminism. Jack would have settled down to listen, a wide grin on his face, ready to throw in gratuitously sexist comments whenever they looked like running out of steam, and Ianto and Nathan would have fled to the archives and the medical bay respectively. In such instances the Seeker usually followed Nathan, always curious to see what new creature the rift had gifted Torchwood with, and whether he knew it and what he could learn.

But that was all gone now, and he would have to find a way of remembering them way they had been when alive, and not their silent, still bodies...

Watching Jack he realised that it wasn’t really fair to conduct his drinking experiment here, since Jack didn’t drink... Except Jack surprised him by carefully studying the row of bottles, before grabbing a 20 year old whiskey and pouring himself a very generous measure.

“Merry Christmas!” he said, holding up the glass with mock-cheerfulness and then swiftly emptied it.

The Seeker stared, then silently helped himself to some vodka and settled down on the sofa, calling out to Ianto and thinking that it was actually comforting to know that even Jack, at times like these, reverted back to normal human behaviour. Also, he could tell that Jack was letting down yet another barrier, and wondered how long it would take before he knew the other man properly - presuming he ever would. Jack, like the Doctor, seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, and yet held more secrets than anyone had the right to.

Ianto arrived, setting up a large screen in front of the sofa before sitting down, letting the Seeker flick though the channels to find something suitably vacuous. Drink and Christmas TV were the best road to oblivion anywhere, that much was certain, and the Seeker happily let himself be subsumed by the succours of 21st Century Earth.

With great contentment he discovered that the cure worked as prescribed. The edges came off the world and painful memories became blurry, as reactions slowed down and the drinking became an end in itself.

Several hours later Ianto and the Seeker watched Jack stagger up the stairs to the loo with some difficulty, trying their best not to snigger when he momentarily lost his footing.

But as the footsteps died away, the Seeker found himself studying Ianto, realising that Ianto had only been around the Seeker’s current age when he had been recruited for Torchwood One... Had from a rootless past built a new life, with a great job, colleagues and a beautiful girlfriend - and then it had all been torn away, leaving him with nothing. No wonder he had grasped onto Jack and never let go - in a world that was forever changing, Jack was an absolute; literally.

The Seeker felt a sudden impulse to do something for Jack, to somehow bring some joy to his life - a life where everything would be taken away, sooner or later. So - what could he do? What did Jack like?

As he heard footsteps on the stairs again, the perfect idea came to him - bright and shining in a world that was getting increasingly slow and fuzzy.

He waved his hand in front of Ianto’s face, and the Welshman shot him a wary look.

“What?”

Grinning he reached out, and with a touch communicated his fabulous idea in all its glory - so, so much easier than talking - and seeing the sudden twinkle in the other’s eyes he knew his proposal had been accepted, even before Ianto leaned in, unable to stop himself from chuckling as he put his hands on the Timelord’s neck.

One part of the Seeker wished that he was less drunk, since the scientist in him wanted to have as clear a memory of his first kiss with another man as possible. But he found that even through the slowness that had claimed him he could still appreciate Ianto’s skill and swiftly note the most obvious differences and similarities between the sexes... And then he resolutely lost himself, because a kiss was a kiss and going with the flow was the only sensible thing to do.

Especially when the kiss was as good as this one.

When they finally parted - the Seeker delighted at the success of his experiment and Ianto looking amused still - they heard an odd sound, and turned their heads to see Jack standing in front of them, a look of profound astonishment on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The Seeker blinked, searching back to the initial idea, and then responded, beaming. “We’re trying to cheer you up!”

Jack stared from one to the other as the words sank in, and then he started laughing - and laughing - and laughing, apparently unable to stop. The Seeker got a little worried and decided to give him a hand to sit down, with some concern realising that he had apparently overshot the limit of Timelord alcohol tolerance by quite a bit when his legs took a good few seconds to do as his brain told them.

But with careful concentration he managed to manoeuver a now giggling Captain down next to Ianto, on whose shoulder Jack gratefully let his head drop.

The Seeker watched them with a fond smile, and decided that it was time for him to leave - he knew if he stayed much longer he wouldn’t be able to operate his teleport.

But he had to make sure Jack understood where he stood (figuratively speaking), and stared him down from his superior vantage point, hoping his legs could be persuaded to keep him upright for a few minutes.

“Right. Jack. Despite that being a _totally_ brilliant kiss - and thank you Ianto-” Ianto silently dipped his head in acknowledgement, “-I would like to make clear that 'officially' I am still straight!” He shot Jack as stern a look as he could under the circumstances, hoping the man got the message. Coming across as straight was one of the only parts of his life where he still managed to appear 'normal' in this world of humans, and it was one he rather stupidly clung to.

“So - if you tell _anyone_ about this, I’ll... I’ll send you to Desperus!”

Allie, thankfully, barely knew Jack, and would just think it was a joke, but Matt and Josh... Matt and Josh would _never_ let him live it down - and would not be above blackmail. The curse of childhood friends...

As he was making sure that the teleport would take him home, Jack called out to get his attention, and then to the Seeker’s concern got up again - although he was apparently a little more stable on his feet now he’d stopped laughing.

“Seeker... I... Just thank you!” Jack said softly, before wrapping him up in a warm hug. “ _Thank_ you. I can’t explain...”

“What’s family for?” the Seeker replied, hugging Jack back and for a moment losing himself in the familiar and comforting sensation of Jack’s total and utter _wrongness_. It was entirely too tempting to stay the night and fall asleep on the couch, his face buried in Jack’s shirt; breathing those wonderful 51st Century pheromones and pretending he was only seven years old, still not understanding that he too was destined to lose everyone (except Jack, his very own forever Jack...)

But he was pretty sure that Jack had other plans, and the Seeker didn’t want to get in the way. Also, he had better be home for Christmas morning, or mum would be upset.

So, with one final squeeze, he let go and stepped away. “Enjoy your celebrations...” he said, raising an eyebrow, then pressed the button on his teleport and winked out.

***

  


Jack slowly made his way back to his seat, the last few minutes replaying themselves in his mind - but this time he wasn’t laughing. The alcohol had helped numb the immediate pain, but it also brought back times he tried not to dwell on...

 _‘Oh Master’_ , he thought, smiling grimly, _‘if only I had known, in that long, dark year, when your favourite pastime was to show me in every way you knew how that I was nothing but a horrible accident; a blemish on the universe who shouldn’t exist... If only I had known that your son - your precious, adored son, born to rule the stars - would one day not only save the life of my partner, but **kiss** him. And for no other reason than to cheer me up. Because he loves me, the freak, like a brother. Despite everything, he will never, **ever** , be the man you want him to be.’ _

It was a shallow, vengeful thought, but he was more drunk than he’d been in decades, and he couldn’t help his one moment of schadenfreude.

Then he guiltily worried if the kid would be allright, but figured that the boy was smart enough, and self aware enough, to ask for help if he needed it, and he himself had an Ianto to see to, all drunk and unravelling...

Still, there was one thing he had to do first, and clumsily he pulled out his mobile, grateful that the number he needed was on speed dial.


	5. Chapter 5

Re-emerging in his room, the Seeker decided that maybe teleporting was like driving - not a good idea when drunk. The room seemed to spin all around him, and for one horrifying moment he thought he might actually be sick (much, _much_ too human and undignified).

Carefully he made his way to his bed, listening to work out whether his parents were awake (his father was home, he could tell) but the house was as quiet as could be. This was good - he didn’t want to act out a Timelord version of ‘kid comes home drunk and gets lectured’ that seemed to be a staple of any soap he could think of.

Had there been alcohol on Gallifrey he mused, as he sank into the bed - he couldn’t imagine a society without some sort of inebriant, but then the Timelords hadn’t been exactly average. For a little while he amused himself by conjuring up a Gallifreyan pub - Timelords staggering out, hats askew and robes a mess, singing rude songs about Rassilon and Omega.

Oh he really was an impudent, irreverent, human-tainted brat, he thought wryly to himself, wondering for the millionth time what it would have been like to grow up on Gallifrey. His temperament, he knew, would have been very well suited to the society, but would he even so have chafed against the rules? Raised by two renegades on a planet in constant flux, a traveller of the universe since he was a toddler and possessor of more freedom (and attendant danger) than any child on Gallifrey could have dreamed of, he was naturally drawn towards stability - but, if life had provided him with order, would he have wished for chaos?

Instead of trying to solve this unsolvable conundrum (and to escape the room which was still worryingly unstable) he closed his eyes and lost himself in sheer time, focussing inwards and outwards at the same time... All there had been, all there would be; the unalterable, eternal wonder forever playing out in his mind.

But the recent happenings overrode the grandeur of eternity, and with an internal sigh he finally focussed his attention on what he had done (his mind still appeared to work, even though his body was rather compromised, which was nice to know): Basically he had saved one life at another’s expense.

Well, that wasn’t quite right - he had taken advantage of people who would have died _anyway_. And although there was no doubt that the Sisterhood’s methods were reprehensible, no matter how many lives they saved, there was nothing _he_ could do to stop them - indeed interfering with established events would be far worse than anything else he could do.

So, whilst he wasn’t absolved, he wasn’t quite as guilty as he might seem. And... once more falling into the great sweeps of history, he knew that always, everywhere, people died so others could live. Indeed, the first thing he had ever learned was that the Timelords had had to die so the rest of the universe could live. Life and death were just two sides of the same coin, and you couldn’t have one without the other. (Except for Jack, the one-sided coin. The human Moebius strip. The One who shouldn’t exist, and yet did, gloriously so.)

Turning the problem over in his mind, he thought that his problem really wasn’t with guilt, but whether the end justified the means. And to that question, he - without a shadow of a doubt - could answer ‘yes’. Not just that, but he’d do the same again, in a heartbeat. (That was, so far, one of his main guidelines. Rash decisions were often ones he regretted, but not this time.)

He had made sure that Jack would not be alone, if only for a little while - but sometimes that was enough. No one should lose everyone at Christmas, especially not someone as old, or as lonely, as Jack.

Conscience laid to rest, he finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep, not noticing the snowflakes that had begun falling outside his window.

On the street below, the Doctor quietly closed the TARDIS door, watching the silent whiteness swirling down on the unassuming North London house, eyes drawn to a certain dark window and mind occupied by the phone call he had just received.

Jack had not said much - had not been entirely coherent, actually - but the bare bones of the story were more than enough. And the Doctor had been wondering why Christmas had been so quiet... he hoped that the Torchwood tragedy had been a fluke, and that the boy hadn’t somehow inherited his own predisposition for Christmas misery.

But since the Seeker was already asleep, and the Master safe in the house too, it couldn’t hurt to take a little trip around the world, just to check that there were no other emergencies...

***

  


When he returned in the morning (with only a slight limp to show for the night's adventures), he found the Master and his wife already at the breakfast table, Lucy sending him a chilly glance before pointedly remarking that he was late.

“And a Merry Christmas to you too, Lucy! Also, I am obviously not the only one who’s late...”

This time the look was subzero. “I’ve called Alexander at least five times, but he’s not come yet. Actually - why don’t _you_ try to get him out of bed?”

How she invariably managed to insinuate that everything in the whole world was _his_ fault the Doctor would never know, but he knew better than to argue with her. Remembering Jack’s call however, he realised that there might be several reasons - some of them physical - for why the Seeker hadn’t come down, and he made for the kitchen, wondering where Lucy kept her blender and if she had any cayenne pepper.

A few minutes later he softly knocked on the Seeker’s door, a glass of murky liquid in his hand, and - after hearing a muffled reply - opened it.

“Merry Christmas Seeker!” he said cheerily, and this time the reply wasn’t quite as muffled.

He frowned and studied the curled up duvet, under which his young charge was hiding.

“Now now, no need for language like that. Even _if_ your head is killing you.”

At this a bleary face appeared, looking at him with accusatory eyes remarkably like his mother’s.

“Why did you never tell me that Timelords can get hangovers?”

The Doctor grabbed a chair and sat down, attempting nonchalance. “Well to be honest I never thought you’d actually drink enough for it to be an issue.”

The anger vanished and was replaced with dejected resignation.

“Yay me for being too brilliant at projecting an image of responsibility for my own good.”

Smiling the Doctor held out the glass. “Drink this.”

The Seeker took the glass and drank, carefully letting the (undoubtedly foul tasting) liquid run over his taste buds, probably noting the chemical components for future use.

Waiting for him to finish, the Doctor let his eyes trail around the room, taking in all the familiar objects - as normal a boy’s bedroom as could be found anywhere on Earth, although possibly with more Star Wars toys than average. ( _“Uncle, can I have a real lightsaber?” “No.” “But Obi-Wan let Luke have one!” “Not when he was only five” “You’re not **fair**!”_ )

Although it was the large Mowgli poster from the 2012 blockbuster that struck him now... ( _“Uncle - I’m like Mowgli, aren’t I? Because I’m growing up amongst a different species and I’m a lot cleverer than them, but they’re still really brave and brilliant, and please can I have a knife like Mowgli’s to carry around my neck?” “What? No!” “You’re not **fair**!”_ ) They had later - after ‘The Incident’ - agreed on the teleport pendant, and the Doctor was sure the Seeker had never taken it off in the 4 1/2 years that had passed since.

But looking at the boy now, who was silently letting the concoction do its work, the truth of that early analogy was brought home again. Had he been wrong (reckless? selfish?) to choose 21st Century Earth as the place where the child grew up? The endless arguments with the Master often made him doubt his decision ( _“Is it so much to ask that I want my son **safe**? Earth is a trouble magnet, **you** know that more than anyone!”_ ), but not as much as the quietness of the usually happy youngster on this Christmas morning. Finally the Seeker broke the silence.

“Jack called you?”

The Doctor nodded, and an oddly guarded look stole into the boy’s eyes. “What- how much did he tell you?”

“Enough,” the Doctor replied, studying the other. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

A vehement shake of the head. “No.”

The hurt must have shown on the Doctor’s face, because the Seeker quickly amended.

“I mean - I don’t want to talk about what I saw, about what happened - that bit’s just too...” His fingers gripped the glass tightly, and the Doctor ached for the vivid pain on his face. How could he have failed so spectacularly in keeping the boy away from heartbreak? He wanted to blame Torchwood, but knew that this was quite simply the consequence of living amongst humans, the assurance of loss built in. It would have come sooner or later, although he dearly wished it could have been later than this, and less... abrupt.

The Seeker, as if reading his thoughts, spoke again. “But I’ve been wondering... Doctor - does it ever get easier?”

He sighed, but there was no point in lying. “No.”

“But... but why go through it over and over again? You've been hanging out with humans for centuries... Why?”

The Doctor took a slow breath, the look in the brown eyes across from him one that he saw in his own every time he looked in the mirror. Time to pass on whatever wisdom he’d gained - or maybe foolishness, they felt oddly similar.

“Because they’re worth it.”

“So L’Oreal got something right...” the Seeker smiled faintly, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it, and within seconds the pain was back. “It just hurts so much, and they’re so... vulnerable.”

The Doctor reached out and grasped his hand, understanding the boy far, far too well. “Which is why we have to look after them. Seeker - you did well. No, you did _brilliantly_ , and I am very, very proud of you!”

The boy flushed at the words; unable to stop a swift, bashful smile.

Giving his hand a squeeze, the Doctor continued. “I know it hurts, and that it isn’t fair that it happened right now when you ought to be celebrating. But... I can’t think of a better way to honour the spirit of Christmas than to save a life.”

The Seeker thought for a moment, then smiled softly and dragged a hand through his blonde hair, looking for all the world like he was no older than 14. The Doctor wanted to do nothing except scoop him up and keep him safe from all the ways in which life could hurt him. But that had never been an option...

“You know, that’s a good way of looking at it. Thank you Doctor.”

There were so many more things the Doctor wanted to say, except he couldn’t find the words. But they had time...

Instead he stood up, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’ve just remembered that I was sent here by your mother to get you out of bed. Go on, get dressed and come downstairs - I’m pretty sure I saw a stocking with your name on it. If nothing else, you’ll get a satsuma. Very good for you satsumas are, underrated as a fruit!”

The Seeker shook his head and laughed. “Christmas the Timelord way - get horribly traumatised, save someone’s life, have a satsuma!”

"That's the spirit!"

And the Doctor finally allowed some tension to drain away - the kid would be alright.

...

A little later, as they were standing outside the door of the dining room, the Seeker turned and looked at the Doctor, tilting his head.

“So - you’re really not going to tell me off for getting completely plastered?”

His current punishment hung silently between them (arguments still deadlocked, buried anger far too easy to bring back to the surface with an incautious word), but the Doctor shook his head. “I think you’ve probably learned your lesson.”

Eyes growing distant, the young Timelord nodded. “Learned a lot of lessons these last few days.” And then he suddenly smiled, pure mischief dancing in his eyes.

“And the drinking lesson was definitely my favourite!”

Stunned into silence the Doctor slowly followed him as he opened the door, and watched as he with deceptive ease greeted his parents, before busying himself with breakfast and presents. Yet again the Doctor was left with the impression that the Seeker was raising himself - quite simply allowing the rest of them to lend a hand when he needed it.

Whether this was the reason for, or a consequence of, spoiling him rotten, the Doctor couldn’t decide. But somehow, miraculously, things seemed to have worked out.

So far at least.


End file.
